Kissing Madeline (Dearest #3) (34 page)

A flicker of something in my chest lights. Hope, maybe? Why his words make me feel better, I’m not sure. Because I’m almost certain Maddie hates me right now.

He lifts his chin. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. In fact, you’re exactly the kind of guy I want to take over my team at the end of the season when I retire.”

It takes me a full minute to process what he just said. “What? When did you decide to retire?”

“When I got my fourth concussion last fall.”

“I thought you were fully recovered.”

“Man, it only takes one good hit, and I’m done. Dead in the ground. No, thanks. I’d rather spend the next fifty years with my wife and kids, getting fat on beer and brats and talking about the good old days. I’ve had a great career, and this season looks like it might end on a high note, thanks to you. I know I haven’t praised you, but it’s been harder than I thought to give up my team. So just get through this media bullshit. That’s all it is. I see it every season. But I also know you’re above it. You’re always keeping your nose clean. Use those instincts now. They haven’t let you down so far.” He gives me a hard slap on my back that nearly knocks the wind out of me and takes off.

Fucking hell. I don’t know what to do with the bombshell he just dropped in my lap.

The team is mine if I can keep my shit together. But does football mean jack without Maddie in my life?

Not really.

My instincts. What do my instincts tell me?

That there is no way Maddie cheated on me. That even after our argument, she’d never run off to fuck Jacob. She hates him.

A roar of commotion kicks up from the corner, and I look up to find half of my team staring at me.

“What?”

Nothing. No response.

“Seriously, tell me why the fuck you’re staring at me. I’ve had a godawful week.”

“Dude, don’t kill the messenger,” Quentin says.

Fuck me. I’ve heard that before. “Just spit it out.”

“Well, I think we’re all really interested in your sex moves, man. That thing you do with her on her back…”

“You’re speaking a fucking foreign language right now.”

Quentin ambles over and hands me his phone and then reaches over to scroll through a dozen images. Of Maddie and me. On my couch. Fucking.

“What the hell is this?” My fingers grip the device.

He clears his throat. “Gifs. You know, compressed graphics. They're like mini movies a couple of seconds long."

"I know what gifs are, asshole. That's not what I mean."

He clears his throat. "I don’t know how to tell you, but there are like five different series of you guys. The story just broke. Apparently that one of her and her ex wasn’t the only thing that landed on the station’s server. These just got posted on some file-sharing website.”

“Show me the rest.” I need to know how far this goes.

They’re shot in her bedroom, on my couch, one in the recliner, and one on the floor.

Fuck. Fuck!

I look up at the guys. Some are grinning. One dick tries to give me a high five.

Quentin leans in. “I’m sorry, man.”

“I don’t know how these were taken. She was paranoid about us getting found out.”

“You sure
she
didn't take them? A lot of chicks out there would kill to do sex tapes with a guy like you.”

“Go to hell, asshole. Maddie isn’t like that.”

“I’m sorry. You’re probably right, but I thought it needed to be said.”

One of the guys is scrolling on his phone a few feet away. “These gifs are clearer than the video of her and that Jacob guy. Like it was taken with a laptop.”

My stomach clenches. Maddie thought she saw the camera light go off that one time we were going at it on the floor, after I teased her with the ice cream.

Christ.
I scrub my face again. Maddie must be freaking out. I head for the showers where I try to get my head together. By the time I get dressed, I know what I need to do.

On my way out, Jeanine stops me. She looks ready to kill someone for my PR nightmare.

“Don’t you dare think about going anywhere. You get your ass in the conference room. Here’s how I want you to roll with this. You’ve been so squeaky clean that people are devouring this story. So just admit you and Maddie had a fling. End of story.”

She ushers me into the conference room where the media immediately flash cameras. Really? How did they assemble here in the last hour? I’m the cause of this hysteria? What bullshit.

I sit next to my coach and Jeanine
puts a statement in front of me and whispers, “I wrote this out for you. All you have to do is read it.”

Coach says a few words about making a mountain out of a molehill and turns the mic over to me. I glance at the press statement and crumple it up.

I pull the mic closer. If football has taught me anything, it’s that you have to man up. I can never blame losses on someone else. It’s on me.

People are screaming out questions.

“Were you sleeping with Maddie when she was having sex with Jacob Callahan?”

“Did you know they dated in the past?”

“What did you think of the video with her and Jacob?”

“When did you guys start going out?”

I hold my hands up. “Okay, everyone, we’re doing this my way. So let’s start by quieting down. I have something to say, and I’m guessing you want to hear it.”

My eyes tear from one side of the room to the other to impress the fact that I want them to shut the fuck up.

“First, I really can’t believe that you guys don’t have more important stories to cover.” Sighing, I decide to put it all out there. People can judge this shit for themselves. “Maddie McDermott and I met through mutual friends last year and got to know each other after she was assigned to cover the weekly
Football 101
segment. That video you’ve been alleging is her in a compromising position with her ex-boyfriend Jacob is total bullshit. She and I have been dating since the summer, and I know for a fact that she loathes her ex-boyfriend. So there is no way that footage is recent. I know she told you guys it wasn’t her, and I believe her. Furthermore, anyone who knows Maddie can tell you she’d never do anything to jeopardize her career by allowing herself to be videotaped in that kind of situation.”

“You mean nothing to jeopardize her career other than sleeping with the source of her weekly segments?” someone in the back shouts.

I laugh, but it lacks any humor. “Ladies and gentlemen, Maddie is a news reporter who was moonlighting to cover our fun little football games every week. Now if you think for a moment that her journalistic integrity was compromised because she was spending time with me, you’re overestimating the value of football. Because when she wasn’t here at the stadium or being forced to cover bachelor contests, she was covering real news, like homeless shelters and fire codes and—”

“Porn!” someone yells. “Don’t forget that porn story she's covering, Daren.”

“Yes, that’s true. And while I think she raised some valuable issues for the city councilmen to consider, I don’t appreciate the way you make her story seem so lecherous. Shame on you. I’m proud to call Maddie my friend, one of my best friends in fact, and I’m an even luckier bastard to call her my girlfriend. What you really should be trying to dig up is the asshole who hacked her laptop.”

I get up, too disgusted with these people to continue. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to find my girlfriend.”

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

- Maddie -

Late afternoon light drifts through the blinds. The house is quiet. So quiet. My uncle said he had to run a few errands, but I think he needed some space. I’m guessing he went to his girlfriend’s house to freak out over his niece, the deviant.

My lips twist. I don’t really think he sees me this way, but God, do the websites have to show every damn gif, each one with its own little x-rated tag, like "Maddie McDermott sucking Daren Sloan off" or "getting nailed hard."

The news outlets are no better, flashing the word “scandal” over my headshot like I’m a criminal. So even though the “reputable” news sources won’t show any images, they’re giving this story more credibility because they’re covering it.

My friends have seen this story. My coworkers. My boss.

I feel so numb. How the hell did I arrive in this spot?

My life feels like a wasteland, and I am ground zero for the wreckage. All of those years of slaving away. Trying to do my dad’s memory proud. Trying to make a difference. All for naught.

In this silence I realize that, more than the job I’m sure I just lost, my heart really hurts over losing Daren. Because right now, as I’m grasping for a life vest, he’s the one I want. He’s the one I trust. He’s the one whose arms I wish could wrap around me right now and drown out the world.

But what really kills me? That I turned my back on him over a rumor, over innuendo and speculation. Over shit like that video of Jacob that started the downward spiral of my career.

I’m a hypocrite. Here I am, dying to talk to Daren, to hear his voice, to have a chance to explain, when I wouldn’t listen to his explanation. I wouldn't even take his calls.

One asshole reporter wondered if Daren had taken the gifs, and I laughed out loud. Daren would never do that to me. Never.

I sniffle, and a hand rubs up and down my side. Ugh, Daren always rubbed my side like this. At night, while I was trying to go to sleep, he’d rub my back until I’d drift off.

Daren.

That hand moves to my stomach and pulls me back until I’m up against a big, hard chest.

Oh my God. Daren.

My head whips around until I’m met with those honey-colored eyes.

I gasp, both elated and horrified to see him. What must he think of me right now? But I don’t have time to ask because he pulls me closer and tucks me under his chin.

“Daren.” A sob breaks through me, and my whole body quakes.
Oh, God. Oh, God. He came.

“Shh, baby. It’s okay. Everything will be okay.”

He holds me tightly with one arm while the other hand rubs my back.

I breathe him in, the scent that’s only Daren. Fresh laundry. Crisp aftershave. My fingers dig into his sides, like I’m afraid someone will storm in here and try to take him away from me.

His fingers tangle in my hair, and he kisses my forehead. “I’m here. We’ll figure this out.” I nuzzle closer, at a loss for words. “I’m going to find the asshole who did this to you, and I’m going to rip his balls off his goddamn body.”

Laughter spills from my lips. It sounds manic, like it’s coming from someone else. I’m crying. I might be hysterical. Do hysterical people know when they’re hysterical?

His big palm runs up over my back and massages my neck, and I sniffle and try to get a hold of myself before I lift up so I can look into his eyes.

He reaches up and cradles my face. I lean into his hand, and we just stare at each other. His calloused thumb slowly wipes away a tear.

A deep sigh leaves him. “Maddie, I am so fucking sorry I didn’t tell you everything. If I could go back and redo it all, I would, baby. But you have to know nothing happened with any of those girls. They were breaking into my hotel room, so that must be how one wore the t-shirt you gave me, but nothing happened. I don’t even see other women since you came into my life. And that shit just kept getting weirder. With my past… I didn’t want you to assume the worst.” His eyes close briefly, and when they open, he shakes his head. “I just can’t lose you.”

“You didn’t lose me.” A shuddering breath shakes my body. “I… I should have let you explain.”

“If… if you need to confirm any of this, ask Quentin. I was afraid the girls would make bullshit accusations, so after the first time it happened, I started bringing him with me back to the hotel to clear out the room. If you want to talk to him—”

“No.” I shake my head. “I believe you. I don’t need to ask.”

I’m not sure if it’s my own runaway scandal that’s helping me see things differently or the fact that he’s here now, but I know he didn’t cheat on me.

He brings me closer and kisses my lips. Just once. Slowly. So tenderly.

Another tear escapes.

“Sweet thing, everything is going to be okay. Please stop crying.”

I nod, believing in him, in us, to figure this out.

“And nothing is going on with Camille. I honestly hadn’t thought twice about her offering to do work for the homeless shelter, and—”

“It’s fine. I shouldn’t have gotten so jealous. It’s just that things were weird between us, and I let my emotions get the best of me.”

“Baby, I would do things differently if I could.”

“It’s okay. We’re okay.”

He tucks me back to him, and we snuggle in silence. He doesn’t ask me any questions, doesn’t accuse me of any wrongdoing. Doesn’t tell me I screwed up. Doesn’t ask me about that video of Jacob. He just holds me.